


Thrones of cinder

by Sirspoonalot



Category: Dark Souls, game of thrones
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 09:36:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14376045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirspoonalot/pseuds/Sirspoonalot
Summary: After so long his journey was ended, Chosen undead, Bearer of the curse, next monarch... unkindled ash. Ser Tristan DuLac had gone by many names, and many more titles, but now may the end of everything. He could finally rest. But the gods are not so kind. And set yes another challenge for the weary champion. Will he stand firm and unbreaking as he has so many times before, or will he be drowned in this game of lords.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my new reader. This is my first time ever doing this. So please be kind but criticism is welcomed. I hold no rights to any of the companies associated with either of these franchises or any individual members of afor mentiond companies. And with that, please, read on and enjoy.

“Ashen one...” Tristan was standing in a black void, no light, no depth perception, seemingly infinite in every direction, it was comfortable, “Ashen one...” There was the voice again, it was soft, gentle, almost motherly in a way, yet it came from every direction at once. The knight suddenly felt a sensation not unlike rising in water. Suffocating, and cold, he started to panic. Struggling against his invisible bonds making them only seem tighter and more claustrophobic, a soft grey light that twinkled like a star appeared in the distance. It was getting closer, Tristan couldn’t tell if it was moving towards him or he was moving towards it. Yet instead of struggling harder as most would’ve to get away from such an unknown. He struggled less, The...light was familiar to him, but he couldn’t remember why. The light came closer and closer until it was more akin to the mighty fog wall of Lord Gwyn. It enveloped him and closed around him like a ball. The bonds that choked him seemingly disappeared. He closed his eyes finding comfort in the fog. “Tristan... wake up.”


	2. Ending their cycle

Tristan’s eyes snapped open, and he immediately started coughing his lungs out, great hacking heaves escaped his mouth as ash and dust was removed from his lungs in clouds. Undead he may be. But he still needed to breath. He felt a small hand lightly grip his shoulders and rub the back of his Iron breastplate in an attempt to help. Slowly a water skin appeared in his vision, the neck held by small delicate, pale fingers, clad in night black hand wraps. Looking up he couldn’t help but allow a small smile to grace his lips, his savior was none other than the fire keeper. “Thank you.” Whispered Tristan. The fire keeper slightly inclined her head in acknowledgment. Looking around the reason they were in this place hit Tristan like a swing from the Dark Eater Midir’s tail. He had done it, the guardian of the first flame was defeated, but he had fallen unconscious due to blood loss during the fight. However he had the ring of the sun princess on one finger which healed him.   
“The soul of cinder has been defeated, the fire is free to be linked.” The fire keeper said in her usual monotone voice. “Indeed my lady. We can finally heal this world as it should’ve been by the prince.” Nodding her head once in agreement the fire keeper began to gracefully step towards the bonfire. 

“This is where our journey ends Ser Tristan. I will take the first flame in me and I wil use my soul to rekindle the fire. You may leave if you wish.” Tristan was shocked after everything he thought he would be the one to relink the fire. “My lady... you cannot it was to be an ashen one who rekindled the flame not the fire keeper.”   
“Wood that has already been burned makes for poor kindling Ser Tristan. This is my duty. I accept my fate willingly.” The fire keeper deadpanned not breaking her stride. “Please My lady. Let me be the one to do this. Not you.” The fire keeper stopped and cocked her head in the direction of Tristan’s voice. “...Why do you fight me on this Ser? This is my duty. You have fulfilled yours. You can be Free.” The faces of all those Tristain had met on his journeys passed through Tristan’s mind. Oscar, Anri, Horace, Luciatel, Griggs, Laurentius, Solaire, Seigward, Quelaana, Quellan, Rosabeth, Orbeck, ... Shanallotte...and all the rest. “...My lady... Firekeeper. I have lost so many freinds on my journeys. I cannot bear to lose another.” Glancing up at the fire keepers expressionless face, covered with her beautiful sliver tiara, and wreathed with her white hair. Tristan knew he had feelings for her. But never could express them. So he chose to ignore them. No longer. “Fire keeper if it must be you who does this. Allow me to be at your side. I beg of thee.”   
For a few moments nothing was said by either, and Tristan started to worry he had crossed a line. Her gaze fell to the floor. “Nadalia...” it took a few moments for Tristan to realize what had just been said. “What?”   
“Nadalia, that is my name.” Repeated the fire keeper “Nadalia.” Said Tristan testing the name. “A beautiful name” the normally stoic fire keeper for the first time allowed the smallest smile smile on her lips. “I thank thee Ser. Shall we.” She asked gesturing to the bonfire. Pursing his lips in anticipation the two undead walked the rest of the way to the bonfire. Linking hands they both reached for the coiled iron great sword and grasped its hilt.   
Small flames danced up their arms and continued down their body’s. Sighing the fire keeper removed her hand from the sword. And gripped. Her champions shoulders by wrapping her arms around his armored torso. And pressed her head against his breast plate. Moments later the arms of the ashen knight Did the same to her. There was a brief flash of light and the two figures disappeared from the kiln leaving a bright flame in their wake. Never to be seen again. But their adventure. Was just beginning.


	3. Lands unknown

Eddard Stark was having a bad day. His daughters, Sansa and Arya wouldn’t stop fighting, bandit attaks were on the rise in the wolf’s wood, his ward Theon Greyjoy was acting more childishly than usual, and his Nephew/ adopted son Jon was moping around Moping around Winterfell like a kicked dog. And no one seemed to be able to change this not him. Not his cousins/ adoptive brothers, not him, not Maester Luwin could change this. Not for lack of trying mind you. He would’ve liked to get a woman’s touch but he knew of Catelyn’s feeling towards the boy. And he didn’t think old Nan could help much. So he did what he usually does when he needs to think. He collected his family blade ‘Ice’ and went to pray at his sisters tomb. Opening his eyes he saw the coiled sword used by Rhaegar Targaryen planted firmly in a pile of the bastards bones. The strange flames given off by this pyre, that no one could give him a reason for existing had been burning ever since he had collected them from the trident all those years ago. Since Rheagar was dead and didn’t look like he was coming back and the flames themselves where quite harmless... He was content to leave them be. An offering to his sisters ghost. He watched the ethereal flames dance for a moment, reflected on the granite surface of his sisters sarcophagus. Before closing his eyes once more in prayer to the old gods for his sisters spirit. 

Before having them snap open again and his jaw open in shock. The flames given off by Rheagars sword were growing and becoming more erratic they now stood nearly four meters tall, kissing the roof of his family’s burial ground, The warden of the north stepped back into the shadows completely dumbfounded as to what was going on. And in the shadows cast by his great great grandfathers tomb he watched and waited, wondering if his dream of being able to slaughter Rhaegar himself was coming true. 

Tristan’s POV  
With a mighty crash that could only be made by a set of plate armor hitting a stone floor, the knight in iron made his impromptu arrival in... well to be honest he had no idea where he was. Groaning he got up on one knee as though he were kneeling before some king, he gripped his helmeted head with one hand while the other stayed splayed on the ground, opening his eyes Tristan immediately shut them again due to the spots in his vision. He knew he had teleported. He had done it hundreds of times before, but each bonfire had a unique.. feeling to them like the one in Farrons keep felt like slime and age. The one in firelink felt homey and comfortable. This one felt more like Elyum Loyce or Irithyll of the boreal valley. But Forossa has collapsed into the sea hundreds of years ago. And all the bonfires in irithyll left chills in his spine. This one. Felt cold yet oddly soothing as though fueling was in the depths of winter. *shrrrk. That single noise brought him out of his thoughts. It was one he had heard thousands of times before. Steel being drawn. Someone was here. “Whoever you are. We don’t need to resort to violence. I hold no animosity towards you or yours.” Said Tristan as softly as he could making a point of keeping his hands away from the various blades and catylists he had on his person. That was until the blade of a sword was pressed into his armpit. A great sword from the feel of it. “Remove your helmet.”  
“Ser I mean you no har-“  
“I said remove your helmet.” The voice was gravelly and was laden with suspicion. Realizing he didn’t have many options and not looking to suffer another death Tristan decided to do as the stranger said. “Very well. I’m going to have to teach behind me I swear I’m not going for the staff.” Raising his arms slowly Tristain gripped the back of his helmet and slowly brought it over the crown of his head. When the helmet was fully off the voice spoke again. “Alright. Drop it and turn around.” Tristan did as he was ordered as the owner of the blade sounded experienced. He couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at what he saw. An middle aged man with a bit of a belly, in boiled leather armor. He had a salt’n’pepper beard and shoulder length black hair. More curiously was the way he visibly relaxed when he saw Tristan’s face. 

Eddards POV  
I couldn’t help but feel annyed at the fact that this man wasent Rhaegar rather than silver hair he had black and it was cropped on one side, his eyes were a dull amber like a pair of dying embers in a fire, rather than the amnythist of the Targaryen dynasty. This man was also far to young to be Rhaegar he couldn’t be more than twenty namedays. He doubted that this man was related in any way imaginable to the line of madness. But that begged the question. Who was he. “What’s your name boy.” Growled the Stark lord as he lowered ‘ice’just enough to be non threatening but noticeable. “My name is Ser Tristan Du Lac of Berinke. Might I know yours Ser?”  
“I am lord Eddard stark of Winterfel, warden of the North and one of the high lords of the seven kingdoms. And now your going to tell me how you got in here and why you burst out of the pyre left for my sister. Or so help me by the gods old and new I will strike you down.” Tristan was slightly taken aback by this statement as he had not been expecting to be in the presence of a lord much less a great one from the sounds of it. But there was one fact that this lord stark seemed to have forgotten. “Tsc. My lord, I mean no disrespect but I doubt you could kill me even if I was mortal. Although you may have forgotten only the undead may use bonfires for travel.” Now Eddard was suspicious. ‘Was this man claiming to be a white walker.’ “Impossible, the only undead I know of are the white walkers and they all have glowing blue eyes according to the legends.” Tristan blinked owlishly. There was more than one kind of undead? “... well my lord. I don’t know about white walkers but I am an undead. I am not lying to you.” Eddard narrowed his eyes considerably   
“Prove yourself. If you are truly an undead. Prove it.” Nodding in confirmation of this Tristan began removing his armor and dropping it to the floor. beginning with his gauntlets and vambraces. Then the couter, followed by the rerebrace and Pauldrons, and finally undid the shoulder straps releasing the breastplate and plackart on his torso. These joined the rest of my the armor peices on the floor of the stark tomb. He then removed the chainmail shirt and the thick cloth shirt underneath, revealing very well defined muscles and a body covered in scars. Axewounds sword wounds. Injury’s from hammers, maces, bows, Spears. Eddard found himself going slack jawed at the state of the young knights body and couldn’t help but wonder how he had survived.

However. Tristan had yet to show the high lord his greatest burden, turning around and positioning himself so the light from the bonfire and various candles in the tomb fell upon his back, which was in some ways worse that his front, due to the tear marks of claws that were yet angry and red. But that wasn’t what Tristan wanted lord stark to see. For on Tristan’s shoulder ‘it’ lay, the seal of fire surrounding the darkness of Tristan’s humanity, the scource of his immortality and misery. “It is called the dark sign.” Said Tristan. “It is what keeps me from dying. And what keeps me dying over and over again.” Lord Stark was almost hypnotized by the absaloute blackness I that was on the boys flesh. And as much as somthing like this shouldn’t exist. Well, men like Eddard hated being played for fools. “It looks like a tattoo healed smooth. I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that.” Tristan turned to face the lord.  
“I do have one more peice of evidence for my case my lord.” He said while unconsciously twisting the metal band on his left middle finger.   
Starks eyes snapped up to meet Tristan’s. “Show me.” The younger looking man closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Very well.” He twisted of the untrue dark ring and the moment the band stopped touching his flesh. The unbelivavle happened in starks eyes. 

Tristan’s eyes rolled back in their sockets leaving grayish white orbs which then sunk back further into his skull until they were non existent his flesh turned green and pulled tight over protruding bones and his lips pulled back to expose yellowing teeth, his nails blackened and his fingers withered to the point they were more sticks then proper hands. Tristan’s hair became patchy and his facial bones were visible due to the parchment thin skin pulled tight around his skull. To lord stark it was as though the young man had died and rotted for years in a matter of a few seconds.

“Do you beleive me now my lord?” Asked Tristan. Although he never understood it himself his voice never changed whether in his human form or this one. All Ned Stark could do was stare dumbly and nod his head. It took a full minute for him to be able to formulate a sentence due to the sheer impossibility of what he had just witnessed. “What did you do?”   
“Hmm? What do you mean my lord.”   
“What crime could you have possibly committed to have deserved such a curse?”  
“I didn’t my lord. The undead curse is unfortunately common where I come from.”   
Nodding his head Ned turned away from Tristan. “Put that ring back on. Put it on.” Breathed the great lord.” in a moment Tristan had put the ring back on and was back to looking normal.  
“This... curse. How is it spread?  
“I... I honestly couldn’t say my lord. All I know about the curse is what I’ve figured out myself. I’m a warrior not a scholar, well, not much of one at least.” Nodding his head in understanding the great lord thought of something else. “Umm Tristan lad. How are bonfires created.”  
You take the bones of an undead and burn them with an enchanted iron sword. It also needs a maiden called a fire keeper to tend to it. Why?”   
“Before now I’ve never heard of anything like this. Come. I need to learn everything I can about this curse. And maybe you and I could share story’s.   
“Of course my lord. But may I make a request?”   
“Depends what it is.”   
“Id like to have an actual bath. It’s been... well... to be honest I can’t remember the last time I had a bath.” It had been a while since Tristan had heard proper laughter. Not the snickering and beaten laughs of the various crestfallen nights he’d met, nor the pompous chuckling of the catarinians he’d met. But true booming laughter. And here it was. Coming out of the mouth of a lord he had only just met. He couldn’t help but be amused by the situation and join in. This was going to be interesting.


	4. Story’s the past.

Tristan didn’t care what other men said. After a long battle, or slaying a powerful enemy, A hot bath was what was needed. Not a hot meal, not a hard drink, not women, A hot bath that one could just soak in and relax as the blood sweat and dirt of combat was scrubbed off. Although the water was beginning to remind him of the awful wet stinking slog through Blight town all those centuries ago, at least he found someone sane down in that reeking sewer, daughter of chaos or not Quellana had been a welcome respite from the previous bullshit of that area. Plus, he got some... interesting pyromancies out of that arrangement with her. He just wished she had chosen to sit nearer the bonfire rather than in the middle of the swamp. It was a shame what happened to her in the end. He couldn’t help but wonder why she had transformed into one of the spider demons like her two sisters so long after the creation of chaos. 

After a good half hour of soaking in the guest quarters Lord Stark had generously provided for him. Tristan finally got out of the large bronze tub kept hot with some minor pyromancy skill, and dressed himself in anticipation for the meeting he was about to have with his host and his inner circle, one Maester Luwin, a steward named Vayon Poole, A Ser Rodrik Cassel who was apparently the starks current master at arms, that was one to watch out for, the masters of arms were usually the most volitile of the family... barring any third borns or bastard sons. The captain of the guard Jory Cassel, most likely a relation of some kind, probably either a brother or son. As well as lord Stark himself, and lady stark. ‘Don’t piss off the she wolf in her den’ thought Tristan. For his garb he chose the black set, or the judgement set if you were from Drangleic,minus the helmet and gloves. As for armaments he chose just his pyromancer glove and a cloth talisman. If Stark wanted him dead. Well, he didn’t strike Tristan as the kind of man to waste time about it. No need to go armed to the teeth amongst possible allies In fact the only reason he was bringing what he did was that the idea of going anywhere unarmed made his skin crawl. Finally ready to meet with lord stark, Tristan waited for the servant that lord stark said he would send to make sure he didn’t get lost. It only took a couple of minutes, before he heard the rapping of knuckles against the door. 

Opening the oak and iron door of his room, Tristan was quite honestly caught off guard, he had been expecting a retainer or a man at arms, instead what he saw was a rather slight old woman, one who was currently glaring at him suspiciously. Coming out of the impromptu staring match they were having, Tristan thought he would be courteous, inclining his head he spoke “you must be the one Lord Stark sent to collect me, I apologize for any inconvenience I have caused you mrs-“  
“Shh” snapped the woman, still glaring at him she pushed past him into the guest room and shut the door. “Umm... can I help you?” Asked Tristan. Genuinely confused as to what was going on. “Yes actually. You can. You can leave Winterfell and never come back.” Said the woman almost snarling the words. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen one of your kind. A very long time, and while I don’t know everything there is to know about you, I do know this much. Your kind always bring pain and suffering where ever you walk.” Tristan now had a blank look on his face. He didn’t think anyone would know he was even here let alone know about the curse. “You know, I have a story about one of you, an golden knight of a dark land whose heart was as black as the long night. Yet he was embraced by a goddess who demanded an end to the servants of light, he murderd so many young maidens yet was never punished because of his mistress.”   
“Lautrec...” whispered Tristan with a grimace, she raised an eyebrow at this. Old Nan may have been old but her senses were sharper than the direwolves of the house she served “Knight Lautrec of Carim, or Knight Lautrec the embraced. The chosen of Fina the goddess of love.”   
“You know of him then?” Asked Old Nan with an upturned chin and a peircing gaze. “Aye, I do, I’m the one who who killed him.” The only sign that she even acknowledged that sentence was a single blink of her eyes. Taking her silence as a gesture to continue he began the sordid tale of mayhem and deception. 

Walking through the undead parish, again, that channeler was causing major issues, but Tristan was certain he had it this time. Reaching the room with the excessive amount of undead, weak or not any enemy can take you down with sheer numbers no matter how pathetic they are. Hearing the choked scream they made Tristan readied his claymore. The first hollow reached him, flailing its broken sword with no rhyme or reason. Tristan decapitated it with a single swing, three more came in from the left. Using the momentum left from the first hollow he spun and caught all three with the large blade bisecting the first two at the shoulder and cutting the last to its spine. Spotting the blue clad chaneller above him on the balcony begin it’s ridiculous dance Tristan stopped his spin kicked the last hollows corpse off his blade and drew a hand axe he had purchased from a sane (ish) merchant back in the undead burg. And threw it, it hit it’s mark, the channelers right hand flew off with its trident still in its grip, realizing the rest of the hollows were much too close to make the claymore effective he drew a balder side sword he had looted off of one of the Balfour knights from the previous rooms, and the kite sheild he had looted from the undead asylum. Deciding to go on the attack Tristan rushed the group stabbing one through the throat and blocking one behind him with his shield, ripping the blade out of the hollow he slashed in a wide arc catching five across the chest before turning his torso and impaling the hollow caught on his shield where it’s heart would be had it been alive. Unfortunately a hollow had crept up behind him and stabbed him in the back “gaaah” cried The knight spinning and braining the hollow with the pommel of his sword sending it crashing to the floor he dealt with the remaining hollows in a series of five good swings at their vital areas before spinning on his armored heels, kicking the hollow that had injured him in the chest, the iron sabbatons on his feet almost making his foot go through its rib cage, onto it back before straddling it’s at the chest gripping the sides of his shield and bring the pointed end of the heavy kite shield into its face, *crack , the hollows was smashed into the floor a spiderweb of cracks aplearing in the aged tile underneath. It wasn’t dead, *crack, the second blow caved In what was left of it’s rotten yellow teeth, it raised its head *crack *crack *crack, three blows in quick succession broke its jaw, cheek bones and left temple. Now it was dead. But Tristan wasn’t done yet, this creature had dared strike him, HIM!, again and again Tristan brought the Sheild down on the hollows head, each blow smashing more of its skull into pieces and turning what was left ofits flesh to a thin smear on on the floor. Only when the point of the sheild started striking off of the tiled floor did he stop pulverizing it. Breathing deeply he calmed down and realized he had forgotten about the channeler. He could he it groaning in pain a level above him. Dragging himself off his knees he re strapped the gore covered sheild to his arm and found the stair case. His armored boots clanking off the stone stairs he stalked towards where he knew the glorified kidnapper would be. Laying all six of its eyes on him the channeler shuffled away fearfully. Only when it was pressed up against the railings of the balcony did he ready his sword. Taking the noble blade with both hands he stabbed the channeler through its face between right in the center of its bottom and middle eyes, only when it stopped gurgling and twitching did he pull the side sword out of its face and wipe the blood off with its robes. He caught his breath and continued on but only after taking the trident as a trophy and collecting his claymore on the way. 

Continuing through the ruins of the abandoned church occasionally striking down any hollow that got in his way. He finally got to a plank wall. It looked much like any other. But somthing pulled him into looking through the gaps in the boards. Seeing a sunlit courtesies with a stair case. Readying his sword he smashed the planks to pieces and walked through. He saw the cell. “Oh still human are we? Then I may be in luck. Could you help me? As you can see I’m stuck without recourse. I treat you, have pity on this harmless knight, surly you can imagin the depth of such dejection. Please. I have duty’s to perform. And I will reward you handsomely, and I’m sure you stand to benefit greatly.” Although this man reeked of suspicion the thought of a reward was too much to resist. Taking out a set of keys he had he reached for a new one he had picked up recently. For the life of him Tristan couldn’t think of where it could go so thought it worth a shot. It fit perfectly. “Ah... I thank you, sincerely, Knight Lautrec, of Carim,I really do appreciate this, and i Garuntee a reward... but later. I am sorry, but your reward will have to wait. I have just been released. You must allow me some time. But now I am free. And I can get back to work. Hmhmhm.” 

Present time  
“After I rang the first bell of awakening he appeared in firelink. I should’ve known somthing was wrong when he began leering at the fire keeper at the bonfire. I didn’t think anything of it as I was... preoccupied. But after I rang the second bell in blight town... I returned to find the fire keeper dead and lautrec missing. I later caught up with him in Anor Londo before I fought the dragon slayer Ornstein, and the vile executioner Smough. He had a pair of... colleagues I guess. One fighting with a tower shed and a winged spear and another who was wearing the red robes of the wizards who sealed New Londo. I killed the wizard first. Then the spear man. After that I stuck Lautrec with my dagger and watched him bleed to death befirecsawing off his finger and taking his ring. I’ve actually got his armor but... I don’t wear it. Anyhow after I killed him I returned the fire keepers soul to her. This restored her completely. And that’s the end of that.” Old Nan studied him as a hunter would study a deer before firing his arrow. “Perhaps I was a little hasty... but dont think I’m not watching you, I live this family, and if you harm any of them or any of them get hurt because of you... I will do all in my power to break you... come along... we dont wish to keep lord stark waiting too long. I have a story about a servant who kept a stark waiting.” Tristan now followed the women who he was pretty certain to be a witch down the granite halls of Winterfell. To the chambers of winterfells leaders. Now wondering what else he could expect from this odd set of people.


End file.
